


Homemade

by Meridas



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: ADHD Mollymauk Tealeaf, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Genderfluid Mollymauk Tealeaf, Other, Slice of Life, Widomauk winter gift exchange 2021, brief appearances of the Mighty Nein, learning new things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28776717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
Summary: “There’s just something I like about it... there’s still something about the winter that’s a nice time for things like this. Just sitting here through the evening, talking with you or Yasha or any of our dumb friends, making something new and soft. I dunno, it just feels right. And I’m glad you’re doing it with me.”or: Caleb and Molly each learn something new.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 9
Kudos: 50
Collections: Widomauk Winter Gift Exchange 2021





	Homemade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DottoraQN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DottoraQN/gifts).



> A gift for Em as part of the widomauk winter gift exchange! Your prompts were so sweet, I hope you like this 💜

Molly jumps a little when a hand touches down on his head, then relaxes again as Caleb runs his fingers through his hair. “Are you still working, _schatz_?” he mumbles, leaning down to prop his chin on Molly’s shoulder. “I fell asleep reading, it’s late.”

“It’s—is it?” Molly sets his hook down and pauses his podcast. Sure enough, his phone is telling him it’s nearly three in the morning. “Oh. Wow, I didn’t realize that many episodes went by.” He flexes his hands, finally feeling the ache of repetitive movement now that he’s stopped. “Sorry, love.”

Caleb presses a kiss to his shoulder. “ _Alles gut, liebling_. We don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow morning.” He straightens up out of the way as Molly stretches, his shoulders and spine protesting after staying contorted into his preferred crocheting position for hours. “Are you at a good stopping place?” 

“Yeah, I’m good. I just got really into it tonight, you know?” Molly folds up his blanket-in-progress carefully and sets it aside.

“Mm. It’s looking very good, _schatz_.” Caleb reaches past Molly and runs the backs of his fingers across the finished part of the blanket. A little smile appears on his face, and he rubs his fingers a little more firmly over the grain of the pattern. “It feels nice.”

Molly leans in and kisses his cheek swiftly. “I’m glad you like it, I’m hoping you’ll cuddle with me underneath it on long winter nights when I’m all done.”

“Ah, you have a nefarious plan already, I see.” Caleb’s smile scrunches up the lines around his eyes, and when Molly nuzzles the side of his face that smile turns into giggles. “ _Nein_ , you are supposed to come to bed and sleep, Mollymauk, not tease me until we are both awake.”

“Alright, alright, I suppose you win.” Molly clambers to his feet, groaning at the new tension aches in his back. “If only because now that I’ve set it down I absolutely can’t keep crocheting tonight. _Fuck,_ I held still way too long.”

Caleb looks sympathetic for about two seconds, before it’s ruined by a massive yawn. “I would offer to help you out with that, if it weren’t nearly three. Let’s see if you can sleep it off, instead.”

Molly lets himself be pulled into their bedroom, and even makes a token effort at helping Caleb undress him. Well, he doesn’t wiggle as Caleb does most of the work, at least, and he only laughs a little bit when Caleb gets his shirt caught on his horns and starts grumbling about it. They’ve been together for years, but there’s just no graceful way to pull a shirt off over Molly’s head. He’s accepted that as his lot in life, and he’s pretty happy to have Caleb around to try to help him anyway. 

The bed has cooled off since Caleb left it to come fetch him from the living room. Molly scoots under the sheets and immediately pulls Caleb close to him to act as a human hot water bottle. “Maybe I’ll make another blanket for the bed,” he suggests, pausing halfway through for a jaw-cracking yawn. “I bought too much yarn, anyway. Actually I bought some and then found all the yarn I’d already bought for that blanket. It was in the closet.”

“ _Ach_ , I’m sorry, I put it away while I was tidying,” Caleb sighs.

“Mm, s’okay.” 

“You should teach me,” Caleb mumbles. He wiggles closer under Molly’s arm, eyes already closed. “With the extra yarn. Is it too nice for beginners?”

“Nothing’s too nice for you,” Molly says immediately. Even falling asleep and losing the thread of the conversation, he’s going to remind Caleb that he deserves nice things and Molly wants to give them to him. “We can do that. You’d do really good. Nice hands. Counting things. Bet you’ll remember how to do the patterns better than me…”

There’s a faint snore from his chest. Molly stifles a laugh into his pillow. Even with that exciting new prospect starting to spin around his mind, it doesn’t take long for his husband’s soft, deep breaths to lull Molly to sleep.

* * *

When Caleb returns from the bookstore the following day, he finds his beloved in the center of a colorful explosion in their living room. He’s well familiar with Mollymauk’s crafting process by now, though, and it takes him only a moment to adjust and take in the pattern Molly has laid out this time.

“Ah,” he says, setting his bag down on a clear spot of couch. “So we did have that conversation last night. I could not quite tell if I had dreamed that or not.”

Molly emerges from the depths of his crafting trunk, triumphantly wiggling a large blue plastic stick in his hand. “Yes we did!” He holds out the stick, and Caleb takes it in bemused agreement. Once he is holding the thing, he realizes that it’s a crochet hook—much like the ones he has seen Molly use for years, only this one is much larger.

Caleb holds it up between them in a silent question. Molly lasts a mere few seconds before he snorts with laughter.

“Ah, you should see your face, love. It’s a beginner’s hook, for training, but I don’t think you’ll need very long to get the hang of it.” He reaches into the pouch of his sweatshirt and brings forth a handful of other hooks, all much more diminutive, that Caleb has seen him use on many occasions. “I mostly just remembered I had one at some point, and then I wanted to see if I still had it in that trunk. Got a bit single-minded until I found it, all the way at the bottom of course.”

“I see.” Caleb twirls the large hook between his fingers. He has used many forms of arcane and mundane tools in his time, and this may be the most unwieldy of them. But he has seen the beautiful things Molly creates, and his desire to learn how to join him has not waned. “This is not nearly as cool as the ones that you stick in your hair sometimes.”

Molly snorts again. “Caleb, I am fabulous and many other things, but even I know that sticking crochet hooks and occasionally wet paint brushes through my messy buns and then forgetting them there is not _cool_.” He leans in and gives Caleb a quick kiss on the cheek. “But thank you for saying so.”

Caleb hands the blue weapon back to Molly. “I am happy to get started on this, _schatz_ , but I have skipped lunch again. Can we begin after dinner?”

Molly’s tail swats gently against his shins in reprimand. “I’m going to start putting snack bars in your pockets again. Yes, of course, do you have anything in mind? I lost track of time and I haven’t eaten either, what sounds good?”

"Mm, something simple tonight." Caleb makes his way into the kitchen, listening to the quiet rustles and mutters as Molly moves his yarn collection around to make room to sit on the sofa. He has just put the water on to boil when he hears a pleased exclamation from the living room.

"Good news?" he calls, peering back around the corner. 

“Yasha’s coming back into town!” Molly tips his head back, grinning upside-down at Caleb from the back of the couch. “She says she’s here to stay for a while, too. How do you feel about having everyone over for dinner? Bit of a welcome-back to-do?”

“That sounds like fun,” Caleb agrees, running his fingers briefly through Molly’s hair as he passes by. “I could cook? It has been a while since we had everyone over for a good winter meal all together.”

“Yeah.” Molly’s voice sounds thoughtful. Caleb glances over at him, and finds Molly watching him, with his arms crossed over the back of the couch and his chin propped up on his arms. 

“Something on your mind, _schatz?_ ”

“I want to learn to cook from you,” Molly declares. His tail waves gently in the air behind him, in that way Caleb has come to recognize as both calm and curious. He has wondered before, living with a fey cat and a tiefling raised by carnival folk, which of the two of his housemates has influenced the other with their tail expression.

“From me in particular? I like how you cook, Mollymauk, you are quite good at it.”

“No, but—I mean, thank you dear, but I meant I want to learn how to make something Zemnian.” Molly gets up from the couch, making his light-footed way over to stand with Caleb in front of their pantry. Caleb lets go of the mental list he was making in favor of watching Molly follow the simple path around their home, appreciating the careless grace Molly walks with even in fuzzy slippers and plain leggings around their home. Even when he isn’t performing, the grace and bodily confidence of the carnival performer is always present in the way Molly moves, and Caleb is always as entranced as he was the first day they met.

“I’d like to be able to make something that reminds you of home,” Molly says, moving closer and sliding his arm around Caleb’s waist. “You always look… I dunno, content? You seem happy when you make Zemnian dinners for our friends. I’d like to do it with you. If that’s something you’d like, too? We can both learn something new.”

Caleb swallows past a suddenly tight throat. “ _Ja_ ,” he murmurs, “that sounds wonderful, Molly.” He draws his arm around Molly’s shoulders and pulls him in closer, placing a kiss against his forehead. For a moment he simply stays there, soaking in the jasmine smell of Molly’s shampoo, the warmth of his hug, and soft, happy sound of his hum.

The sound of boiling water finally pulls him away. "For tonight, we'll keep it simple, though. Pass me the pasta sauce, please."

* * *

The rhythm and patterns of crochet come very quickly to Caleb, just as Molly suspected they would. They spend the first night on a basic stitch, getting Caleb familiar with holding the hook and yarn. Molly manages to get his arms around Caleb for a time, willfully making himself just as much a nuisance as a teacher as he holds Caleb’s hands in his own and “shows” him how to pull through just the right amount. 

"Mollymauk," Caleb says, faux-serious as Molly lets his fingers wander away from the yarn and meander appreciatively along the bared stretch of Caleb’s forearms. “I don’t believe I am learning anything from this.”

“Hm? You’re not? Are you sure?” Molly grins. With Caleb’s hands occupied with yarn, he can’t very well hide the smile tugging at his lips. Molly nuzzles in behind his ear, eliciting the most wonderful laugh as Caleb tries to wiggle away from him without dropping his work. Taking pity on him, Molly settles down and wraps his arms around Caleb’s waist instead. He tucks his chin over Caleb’s shoulder, careful not to poke him with the horns, and watches in approval as Caleb finishes the end of his square and neatly ties it off. 

Reaching into the basket at his side, Molly brings out his own hook and a new skein of yarn. “Want to see a new pattern? Or should we stick with the squares of different colors?”

“Another simple one, perhaps,” Caleb says, and Molly smiles at the eagerness in his voice. One more thing he can always count on: his Caleb’s delight at learning new things. 

Crocheting around someone is a challenge that Molly hasn’t attempted since his days with the carnival, but he knows it’s easier to pick up new patterns when seen from the same point of view. It brings back some memories, sitting with Toya in his lap, listening to her sing quietly as he worked on a piece.

He’s a far cry from those days now, but it’s still nice to settle against Caleb’s back and cuddle while he works. He doesn’t need a perfect view of what he’s doing, anymore, not after all the practice he’s had. “Okay, this one’s a double stitch,” he says, selecting a deep green yarn. “I do a lot with this one, you might recognize it once we get it going.”

“Is this blanket going to look like a very odd training exercise when we’re done?” 

Molly smiles as his fingers pick up the familiar rhythm. “Maybe, but it’ll be ours. I can make all of these fit together, don’t worry about that. We can add some fancy ones if you want; I’m sure you’ll be more than able to pick up any of the stitches I was able to do in the back of Gustav’s car without losing my place. Your intro is a lot of things I picked up on road trips, if you couldn’t tell yet.”

Caleb nods, his eyes trained on the slow, deliberate movements of Molly’s fingers. “I like these things that you make, Molly,” he says. “I am not as concerned with fancy things. To be honest, making doilies seems to me like more effort than is practical.”

Molly laughs. “Spoken like someone who can read through six hours of driving. I went through such a doily phase that Desmond was just using them to scrub his stage makeup off by the time I found something else.” 

Caleb is quiet for a moment. With his chin still perched on Caleb’s shoulder, Molly can just barely hear him counting the stitches under his breath. He continues with his stitch, slow and steady so that Caleb can pick up the pattern. Then, a minute or two in, comes the question Molly has secretly been waiting for all along.

“At some point, will you teach me to crochet a cat?”

* * *

As the dinner with their friends draws closer, Molly and Caleb start breaking into the intricacies of Zemnian cuisine. Although Caleb doesn’t have any formal training, it’s obvious that he’s kept a small but passionate flame burning in his heart for a long time. Knowing how important this part of his childhood is to Caleb, Molly throws himself into the process wholeheartedly—perhaps even a bit too enthusiastically.

“Mollymauk,” Caleb tells him in the middle of a small Zemnian deli, “we don’t have to make the pickles. They’re right here, there is no need to go through that process.”

“But we _could_ ,” Molly says, tapping his chin with one finger and gazing thoughtfully at the rows of gherkins. They’re all labeled in Zemnian, leaving him without a hope of actually reading the jars, but he makes a show of it anyway. “Caduceus has made pickles before, and pickled carrots and other weird stuff. We could do that.”

Rolling his eyes, Caleb takes Molly by the hand and drags him out of the aisle, taking one measly jar of pickles and no more. “Your dedication is admirable, _liebe_ , but I think not.”

There’s just so many different things involved in cooking that seem to exist just to distract Molly; between his ADHD and the rather odd life he’s led, he’s always been one to bounce around to new interests and hobbies. He remembers the summer he and Yasha and the rest of the carnival picked an outlandish number of blackberries, and Orna taught them how to make jam in order to preserve their bounty. There are still a few jars of various jams in the back of his cupboards from the six-month jam-making obsession that followed, although he’s never made it again since that spree.

He makes a mental note to ask Caduceus about pickles next time they see each other. Caleb doesn’t _need_ them, but maybe Molly will start making pickles anyway. There’s probably lots of weird things he could pickle if he really tried.

Once they get home from the store, Caleb begins meticulously laying out the ingredients they’ll use, while Molly looks up a few variations of the recipe they might try on his phone. 

“I was thinking we would do bits of the big dinner at a time, so that you can learn how to make them. Otherwise the two of us will most likely be sick of the roast before Yasha is back in town.”

“Hm. Yeah, sounds good.” Molly frowns slightly down at at his phone. There’s a couple of links throughout the cheerful little pre-recipe story. He taps on one of them, which takes him to a page about the best marinades for Sauerbraten. It also shows a couple other pictures of traditional Zeminan sauces and marinades, and a word that Molly thinks is Zemnian for venison. He taps on one of those, too.

Caleb comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Molly’s waist. “We have everything we need, if you would like to try this out before we inflict any of our cuisine on our friends.” He glances over Molly’s shoulder at his phone, then plants a kiss against his neck. “Now, do you want me to help you learn more about this topic you’ve found, or do you want me to stop you before you go down this rabbithole?”

“I love you so much,” Molly says. “Please don’t let me fixate on marinade.”

Caleb’s laugh is warm and hearty in his ear and rumbling against his back. “Come here, _schatz_ , we’ll make spaetzle from scratch this time and you can decide whether or not it is that much better than store-bought.”

He’d missed this, Molly realizes as he follows Caleb’s instructions attentively. Cooking together, learning some new way of creating something warm and tasty from the basics they have on hand, the desire to hover over his creation as it simmers and the satisfaction when a step turns out right—it reminds him of his days with the carnival, in a way. Everyone pulled cooking duty back then; Molly, being the one among them who didn’t have a culture he remembered, had learned everything he could from everyone who did. Even when no one spoke about their pasts, the things they made for each other told stories of their own.

That’s not to say that Yasha’s spider-meat kebabs were particularly well-received. Molly hadn’t found them to be so bad, really. But it was agreed that on the nights Molly and Yasha cooked for the troupe, either Molly did the cooking or they didn’t tell anyone what was in it. 

This feels special in a different way, but just as important. It’s something that makes Caleb’s voice go a little soft and far-away, once in a while, just at the parts where he tells Molly about how his mother taught him a particular technique. For the most part, Caleb loves teaching almost as much as he loves learning, and the methods of Zemnian cuisine are not so different in that regard. But there’s a moment, when they have slid the roast into the oven and sat down to wait for it, that Caleb gets quiet again. When he does speak, it’s quiet but content. 

“Thank you, Mollymauk,” he says, in that way that he pronounces Molly’s name when he is being serious and sincere. No one else says Molly’s full name like Caleb does, shaped by his accent and warm as it leaves his lips. Early on in their friendship Molly hadn’t understood what it meant when Caleb didn’t use his nickname like the rest of their friends. Now, hearing it from Caleb in the familiar intimacy of their home sends a warm little shiver through him, makes his ears flick up happily.

Caleb notices, of course, and he smiles a bit as he turns towards Molly. “I haven’t had a lot of cause to talk about those memories,” he says. He trails one finger along the outer shell of Molly’s ear, smiling a bit wider at the shiver he gets. “Something so simple as cooking, it tends to fall by the wayside, but… those times mean a lot to me. I am very glad to share them with you, _schatz_. Thank you, for asking me for this.”

“I’m glad.” Molly turns his head into Caleb’s hand, pressing his lips to the open palm. “Thank you for sharing them with me, love. Those stories of yours, they’re important. I’m glad that it’s making you happy, too.”

Caleb scoots in closer and kisses Molly’s forehead, just at the base of his horn. Both of their clothes smell like cooking, like spices and vinegar and a bit of warm sweat. Molly leans into Caleb and tucks his face into his shoulder. He closes his eyes and hums quietly as Caleb’s arms come to rest around his shoulders, one hand running softly up and down his back. “Did you set a timer?”

“ _Ja_ , we have plenty of time left.” 

Molly tips his face up to Caleb’s, grinning. “Oh? That’s plenty of time for what, Mister Caleb?”

As he’s tipped over and thoroughly kissed into the couch cushions, Molly’s just grateful that he doesn’t have to be the one keeping track of time.

* * *

Caleb’s making good progress on his parts of their blanket. His excellent memory and love for patterns means that he doesn’t need to be reminded how the basic stitches work, and once he gets going he finds the repetitive motion intensely satisfying. The yarn Molly presents him with is all soft and fluffy in his hands—he knows that Molly has made himself a few things with yarn that is sparkly, but the idea of running the texture of that material through his fingers makes Caleb shudder. Molly knows him well, though. It took some time, back when they were first introduced, but Caleb remembers well the turning point when he and Molly realized that for every way that they were different, their brains also worked in similar ways. Now, there is a list on Molly’s phone that keeps track of things that Caleb cannot stand the texture of, and a similar list of things that will drive Molly to a sensory overload stays in Caleb’s mind.

The two of them work very well together. Caleb is very proud, when he lets himself be, of how far he has come: that he can maintain his life with Molly, with their friends, with things that make him happy and keep him grounded. He counts himself lucky every day, so very lucky that he and Molly found each other and built this life together. 

Tonight, that thought makes him pause, holding his yarn in place for a moment while he just watches Molly run his hands over his seams and make adjustments. After a few minutes, Molly looks up at him and smiles. 

“Still doing alright, love?”

Caleb leans forward, careful to keep his hands steady on his current square, and kisses the closest part of Molly he can reach. From this angle, he lands on the outer curve of a horn; he knows Molly doesn’t feel anything there, but he giggles at him and that is one of Caleb’s favorite sounds in the world. “I enjoy this,” he says. “I can see why you lose time to this sometimes. It is very satisfying.” He runs his thumb along one of his rows, much neater now and more confident than his first attempt. “It’s very easy to pull this apart and begin again if I make a mistake. I’m sure the patterns you do are not quite as forgiving, but I enjoy this one for now.”

Molly pushes himself forward, crossing his arms against the couch cushions to lean against them as he looks at Caleb’s work. “You’re good at this,” he says. “Keep up this pace and we’ll get you to the smaller hooks and a proper pattern and you’ll be ready to make yourself a little cat friend in no time.” He grins up at Caleb, his tail swishing slow and content. “I’m glad you like it. I like doing this together.”

“It is very nice to see something grow from your efforts like this,” Caleb says. “And, you were right. I do like counting things.” He smiles, and leans forward. Now that he has moved closer, Molly is at the perfect distance to kiss. 

“There’s just something I like about it,” Molly says, soft and musing as Caleb pulls back. He lays his cheek down against his folded arms, his ruby eyes falling half-closed and content as he watches Caleb resume his stitches. “Even now… I’m not traveling anymore, we don’t have the off-season from the carnival, but… I dunno, there’s still something about the winter that’s a nice time for things like this. Just sitting here through the evening, talking with you or Yasha or any of our dumb friends, making something new and soft. I dunno, it just feels right. And I’m glad you’re doing it with me.”

Caleb pauses in his work. Careful not to drop his latest stitch, he frees one hand and cards gently through Molly’s soft hair. “I think I know the feeling,” he murmurs. It is a feeling he had once thought lost, one that he found again thanks to their friends and especially, always, with Molly. It feels like home.

* * *

There is always a certain fanfare to Yasha coming home, ever since they settled down long enough for her to come back to the same place twice. This time, Caleb has just enough time to grab the silverware box from Molly’s hands when he sees his ears perk up and his tail whip excitedly through the air. As Molly bolts for the front door, Caleb smiles to himself and finishes setting the table with a place for each member of their family.

A familiar clamor rises from the porch—the heavy thump of Yasha’s bag hitting the floor, the excited chirp of Molly’s voice and the softer music of Yasha’s laughter, and behind it all the slamming of car doors and more voices as the rest of their friends arrive right behind their errant friend. As the company and conversation spills inside and fills the house, Caleb takes a moment and looks over the table.

The dishes on the table are not the same as the ones his mother once set out, but they are very close to Caleb’s memory. The cups and glasses are more eclectic, collected in ones or twos over the years. The Sauerbraten and spätzle that he and Molly made together rests in the kitchen, the smell just like his childhood home. As the Mighty Nein hang their coats and trickle in, making themselves at home as they always do, Caleb stands among his family and takes in a deep breath, pressing the moment perfectly between the pages of his memory.

His parents would be so happy for him.

It’s a thought that settles sweetly in his chest as he takes his place at the table. His house is full of family and laughter again, with old recipes and newer faces, and Molly’s tail curled comfortably around his ankle.

As is customary when their friends all gather, the frivolities end up lasting deep into the evening. Eventually, though, even the excitement of having Yasha home again cannot contend with the yawns creeping around the room. Their goodbyes and see-you-soons draw out again and again, each of them reluctant to truly bring the night to an end until Jester begins to nod off entirely against Fjord’s shoulder. 

Finally, all their friends have dispersed to their own homes and Caleb shuts the door quietly behind them. From his perch on the back of the couch, Frumpkin lifts his head and looks around the now-empty living room. Caleb chuckles, making his way over to him to give his little cat the pets he deserves.

“It was a good night, Frumpkin,” he says. His cat purrs, rubbing his head against his fingers. “ _Ja_ , a very good night.”

Tired but happy, he elects to join Frumpkin on from the sofa as Molly and Yasha exchange their goodnights and hugs, their quiet voices blending into soft background noise to Caleb’s tired ears. Although he knows he should get up and prepare for bed, Caleb finds himself beginning to doze.

Down the hallway, the door to Yasha’s room creaks shut, and the soft sound of Molly’s tired footsteps makes its way back to the living room. Just as the sounds begin to pass the couch, Caleb hums and waves one hand vaguely in what he thinks is Molly’s direction. He catches a knee, and opens his eyes at the soft snicker of laughter he gets for his efforts.

“You might have to help me up, _schatz_. I have made the mistake of sitting down with Frumpkin.”

Molly chuckles. “The two of you look quite comfortable. Maybe I ought to join you there, instead.”

Caleb considers it. “Perhaps for a moment. Tonight was wonderful, and now we deserve a rest.”

“Just for a moment, then.” Still smiling gently, Molly tucks himself cozily along Caleb’s side with a satisfied sigh. Then, seemingly inspired, he leans over and pulls their three-quarters of a finished blanket from its basket and drapes it across them.

“Mollymauk,” Caleb murmurs sleepily, “it’s not done yet.”

“Shh,” Molly chides him, settling the blanket carefully over their tangled legs. “It’s not going to fall apart, I promise. Appreciate the gesture with me.”

Caleb laughs softly as Molly settles back against his chest. He lets his fingers wander along the grain of the blanket until they bump into Molly’s, and he laces them together easily. 

“How long do you think it will take us to finish it?” he asks around a yawn.

“I’ll teach you to make a cat this weekend, if you want. I can finish the blanket on my own now that you know the stitches.”

“ _Nein_ ,” Caleb protests, sitting up slightly. Molly tightens his grip around his middle and grumbles. “I want to finish it with you. I know I am not as practiced as you are, but… no, I would like to help you finish it.”

Molly tips his face up to Caleb’s with a soft grin that crinkles up the corners of his eyes. “And then cats?”

“Absolutely, and then cats.”

“And I’m going to learn to make pickles.”

“Whatever you say, _liebe_.”


End file.
